Of Phantom Fears and GoodLooking Men
by Ala Verity
Summary: When the ghost of Chiba Mamoru appears in Usagi's room, she makes a deal with the devil--and now they're are stuck together until she's sure that the ghost isn't real. But can one good-looking man really assuage the fear induced by his own phantom ghost?


A _new_ story, you say? By Ala Verity? But she hasn't even finished the last _three_ she started on!

Okay, guys, so here's the deal…

This was written for Alicia Blade's first ever hosted contest…drum roll...The Phantom Writing Contest!

The deadline was about an hour ago, 6 July 2008. And that's when I finished this story. An hour ago.

So here it is, in all its blemished and unpolished glory—ladies and gentleman, I present to you my entry for the Phantom Writing Contest. Enjoy! And be sure to check out everyone else's entries if you see them online, they're sure to be wonderful.

* * *

**Of Phantom Fears and Good-Looking Men**

**Ala Verity**

A short story written for the Phantom Writing Contest hosted by the wonderful Alicia Blade in June-July 2008.

* * *

"Do you really think this is wise, Your Majesty?"

"Do I think what is wise?"

"This—putting the two poor souls through this. Especially Usagi. I thought you would have more consideration for a girl who not only shattered all your finest wine glasses screaming in terror at the sight of her daughter in a cut-up bedsheet last Halloween, but who also just happens to be your soulmate."

The man smiled wistfully. "That was because Small Lady destroyed our best linen, and you know Serenity is never one to be outdone when it comes to wreaking havoc."

"You know what I mean."

"I do. And you forget, Setsuna, that I was once that man himself, and that I therefore possess that same concern for both their fates as I would for…well, for my own, frankly."

"You're too good."

"Call it a gift."

"You won't mind my asking, then, if you even recall any of this in your former memory? Or should I be worried about the effects of your little bout of meddling on the time-space continuum?"

"Just guard the portal and make sure nobody interferes, Setsuna, especially my wife. You can even watch, if you like—I can guarantee that it will be quite a spectacle. But I didn't come here for a lesson on morals; I get quite enough of that from _her_ as it is. Did you know that she still won't get off my case about that dream fiasco that I'm due to plant in my former self's head a year from now?"

"Whatever you say, Your Majesty. After all, I'm just a guardian of the fourth dimension and responsible for the fate of the entire world."

"Good. I was hoping you would say that."

* * *

It was a beautiful afternoon.

It was a beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon.

And it was this beautiful, sunniest of anticipating-the-weekend afternoons that found Chiba Mamoru sitting in the arcade next to the spotless window with his steaming cup of Brazilian coffee and a cozy book.

That is, until a shriek sent the steaming coffee splashing onto the cozy book and turned it into a soggy bunch of pages that looked like it had just been dipped into the nearest clogged toilet.

"MAMORU—_BAKA!_"

"Oy, Odango," he muttered under his breath, throwing the diarrhea-strewn mass that was his textbook distastefully onto the table.

"Mamoru-baka," the voice shrilled, "What the _heck_ do you think you're playing at?"

"It's a game called 'studying,' Odango, which I don't believe you've ever tried," Mamoru replied through clenched teeth, willing himself to keep calm. When he felt that his eye had stopped twitching enough to face the new arrival without looking like he had myoclonis, he looked up.

Usagi was standing over his table, hair standing straight up, hands on her hips and her bright blue eyes shooting daggers—scratch that, those were definitely machetes she was sending his way!

"I didn't even have the pleasure of knowing that you were _dead_ when you paid your ghostly visit late last night," Usagi growled, jabbing a finger dangerously close to his face. "And now you're trying to overwhelm me with the pressure of knowing that I have to deal with two of you, in addition to what I already suffer at your hands in the daytime! Is that it?"

"Congratulations, you've foiled my sinister plans," Mamoru said, rolling his eyes. "I haven't the least clue what the hell it is you're talking about, so if you aren't going to explain, Odango, at least make yourself useful and find me a hairdryer so I can save my textbook."

"Don't play coy with me!"

"Don't play stup—oh wait, you're not." Mamoru smirked. "That's just you being you."

"I saw you in my bedroom last night," Usagi declared matter-of-factly.

"You _what_? …Why would I be your room?"

"You think I don't know, but I _do_."

"Well, good. That makes one of us, then," Mamoru said, blinking.

"And you were a ghost."

"A _what_?" Mamoru demanded, feeling stupider by the moment. Maybe a person's mental state was really contagious—or maybe it was something else about her that made him this way, something much more serious…

"I bet you have something really evil in mind," she continued, plopping herself into the seat opposite him. "At first, I thought it was just the extra-spicy chili-cheese fries I ate before going to bed, or maybe even the hot fudge sundae with Skittles and chocolate chips that I sneaked right before that—"

"No, that wouldn't induce you to strange hallucinations at all," Mamoru drawled, peeling two sopping pages carefully apart.

"—but then it hit me that even if it _was_ the fries, I should be having good dreams, or at least only strange ones, not nightmares of you in my bedroom dressed up like some Halloween freak!" She poked him in the chest, hard, and he grunted as her fingernail nearly drew blood. "So this is the end of the line, mister. Your _ghost_ cost me precious study time last night—"

Mamoru snorted.

"—or, well, at least it cost me valuable energy, and I get enough of you as it is without seeing you in my bathroom too, thank you very much."

"You saw me in your _bathroom_?"

"It's none of your business. I thought you said you weren't interested in knowing the details."

"Well, I mind knowing if I'm in your _bathroom_," Mamoru began, but Minako, who had just appeared from behind the booth with a pair of binoculars and a hearing aid, cut him off.

"Why don't we settle this once and for all?" she asked, looking between the two of them with an excited grin.

"And where the hell did _you_ come from?" Mamoru demanded rudely.

"I think I have a solution."

"What is it?" Usagi asked, looking curious.

"Well, the only way to know if this ghost is real or not is to determine whether or not _Mamoru_ here is the ghost, right?"

"I'm not—"

"You have a point," Usagi interrupted. "Go on."

Minako nodded sagely, an ominous premonition in itself. "Okay, so the only way to tell that what you saw last night _wasn't_, in fact, Mamoru himself, is to keep track of his whereabouts and activities at all times, surveillance around the clock—"

"Last I heard, privacy was still sacred," Mamoru muttered.

"—and if the ghost doesn't show up again in, oh, say three days or so, we'll know for certain that the figure you saw in your room was in fact Mamoru merely exercising a perfectly healthy male desire to peep into the rooms of poor, innocent girlies in the dead of the night—"

"I was _not_!" Mamoru said loudly.

"And if he does?"

"_Motoki_!"

"What?" The arcade manager shrugged. "I'm as curious as any of you to know what's going on."

"And if it does show up again, with Mamoru in attendance—" Minako continued.

"—then we'll just call it a freaky paranormal phenomenon and come up with another solution from there!" Usagi finished triumphantly, her cheeks aglow with the flush of victory. "Minako-chan, you're a genius!"

Minako beamed at her. Mamoru raised his eyebrow.

"Well, you heard the girl," Usagi said finally, a gleam in her eyes that spelled certain misery to come as she leaned in like a lioness leering at its prey. "Until the matter has been settled, _you_, Chiba Mamoru-baka, will stay with me for the next three days, no matter where I go or what I do—"

"You have got to be kidding me."

"—or at least until one of our heads explodes. And it sure as heck isn't going to be mine."

* * *

"You're crazy."

"No thanks to you."

"He'll kill me!"

"With any luck."

"When I die, I'm going to haunt you so badly you'll wish your dad hadn't wasted the last bullet on me."

"Just push the button, Mamoru-baka."

"I'm getting there, don't _rush_ me!"

"Yes, if you call hanging your arm for the past ten minutes in front of my doorbell like a crippled zombie 'getting there.' Push the darn button, or I'll do it for you."

"I don't—wait, _no_, Odango! Don't push the—"

_DINGDONG!_

"—doorbell. Oh, God."

"Daddy, I'm home!"

"Shit. Ergh, I mean…I mean dammit, holy _shit_! What the hell did you go and do that for, you idiot?"

"Yes, _that_ would be the way to make a good impression. Just curse all my ancestors too while you're at it, won't you? My dad would _love_ that."

"…"

"…Mamoru?"

"…_sniff…_"

"Mamoru, I was only messing with you. My dad doesn't home until five. Now are you going to stand there on my doorstep sniffling all day, or are you coming in for a cup of lemonade? Because there's only one can of cream fizz left, and I don't care how long you're staying for—you can't have it."

"…I hate—_hiccup_—you, Odango."

* * *

Mamoru stared at the can of cream soda in his hands. Orange foam bubbled and gurgled happily over the top like a flaming fizz river.

Usagi, who was sitting across from the brooding man, tapped her foot impatiently against pink plush carpet. "Stop looking like you're thinking about drowning yourself in that can of cream soda, Mamoru-baka," she finally said, breaking the silence, "because that is _not_ what I handed that precious reparation gift over to you for. How many times do I have to say it? I'm. _Sorry_."

She had a point. Mamoru's eyes roamed hopefully over the soda cap, and he wondered if it was sharp enough to puncture an artery or two with. Maybe. Probably.

"Say something, Mamoru, anything. Call me Odango. Tell me how I'm going to be a meatball harvester one day and raise bunches of meatball-headed lemmings for slaughter. You're starting to scare me."

She couldn't make out a twitch of the face or even the rising and falling of his chest, and wondered if he was still alive.

All _he_ could think about was how they were sitting, just the two of them, a high school upperclassman and a fifteen-year old Daddy's Princess (the "Daddy" in possession of several weapons and one whopping homicidal tendency), alone in the latter's living room.

If that wasn't grounds enough to justify her rifle-toting father to shoot Mamoru on the spot, Usagi had walked into the room only fifteen minutes ago with a note in her hand, announcing that her parents were staying over at her grandmother's house for a few days to take care of the house while she was away on vacation in the Bahamas.

Usagi was charged with keeping the house, and _not doing anything that she would not otherwise do in front of her father_.

Mamoru felt that that was a pretty clear death sentence addressed to himself, and only wondered at his name not being emblazoned across the top of the note.

"Okay, fine, let me put it this way," Usagi said, exasperated and half-fretting at Mamoru's stony-eyed expression—what if he passed out on her living room floor? "Would you rather my dad _be_ here right now to kill you himself?"

Mamoru's head snapped up. "No," he responded immediately, eyes wide.

"Great," she chirped happily, taking his stunned silence for consent. "You can take the couch, then. I'll get Shingo's clothes for you. And don't worry so much, Mamoru-baka!" she added cheerfully as she disappeared down the hallway. "If I'm not worried, then you shouldn't be either. After all, it's not like anything could happen between us anyway, right?"

Mamoru did not reply, and sank instead back into the couch that was to be his grave for the next few days.

Somehow he seriously doubted that.

* * *

The greenish, spotted blob on his plate jiggled ominously.

"Er…what _is_ it?" Mamoru asked, looking revolted as the goop swallowed the chopsticks he had prodded it with.

Her cooking was definitely going to kill him—at least if her dad didn't get around to doing it first.

"It's supposed to be jellied apple-loaf," Usagi replied, looking equally repulsed, "but I don't think it turned out quite right."

"You're telling _me_."

"Hey, at least I tried!" Usagi said defensively, picking up her plate and dumping its contents into the trash can; Mamoru did likewise and wondered if starvation wasn't a more likely candidate for his premature death. It seemed like there were an awful lot of health hazards that came with hanging around Usagi too long. "It's not like I'm criticizing _you_ for not helping around here!"

"Good thing I'm not a guest or anything, then," Mamoru replied sarcastically, turning to the sink and washing his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to keep both of us from starving, what does it look like? Get out the frying pans and cooking oil, Odango."

Within half an hour, the kitchen was filled with the tantalizing aroma of sizzling fish, hearty beef stew, and even apple pie, although the gods only knew how he had managed to make _that_ out of the same apples that had produced Usagi's blasphemous debauchery of apple-loaf.

"Alright, you win," Usagi conceded generously, but at Mamoru's raised eyebrow she relented. "Okay, okay, you win by a lot. Happy? Let's eat! I'm starving."

Mamoru simply shook his head, repressing a smile as he ladled out the portions onto their plates. "You know, Odango, your cooking constitutes such a hazard that if I drop dead tonight, at least honor my memory by letting the police know that it was your food that did me in, won't you?"

"Hey! I think I did a pretty good job cutting those apples, thank you very much," Usagi protested through a mouthful of fish. "Ohh, this is _amazing_."

"You're hopeless, Odango."

The only reply he received was a loud smacking noise and a low, satisfied moan.

"You know, Mamoru-baka," Usagi said twenty minutes later, when she had demolished every crumb on the table, "If you weren't such a jerk, I might actually marry you for your cooking. That was _delicious_. What were you, an Iron Chef in your past life?"

"I've never been so flattered in all of my lifetimes, I assure you," Mamoru replied, getting up from the table. "You get the dishes tonight, Odango. You're _exhausting_ to cook with."

* * *

That first night she appeared in the living room just as Mamoru was getting ready for bed and said, "I can't sleep."

Mamoru raised an eyebrow at her. "So what do you want _me_ to do about it? Sing you a lullaby?"

"God, no! I don't want nightmares. But what if Pearly White comes back to haunt me? I'm sleeping out here with _you_."

Usagi plopped down a mound of lurid pink blankets, arranged them neatly on the floor, and wrapped herself up in a tight cocoon with the remaining quilts, staring up at Mamoru with wide, doe-like eyes.

Oh, he had complained then, begged her not to be so stubborn about things she didn't understand about a gentleman's pride.

But it sure as hell wasn't _his_ fault she looked so damn adorable wrapped up like a pink corn dog.

"If you're done, I'm going to bed now," she announced firmly, simply a pair of enormous blue eyes peeking out at him from a mound of quilts. "Leave the lights on, and good night, Mamoru-baka."

And that was the end of _that_.

But when the time actually came for him to occupy that godforsaken floral-print couch, he silently thanked the gods for leaving the lights on so that he could watch her sleep, reminding himself guiltily all the while that it had not been in the least _his_ idea to sleep in the same room as Usagi, and that if he had things _his_ way he would not have stood for this little act of moral misconduct whatsoever.

But he was a guest, and of course it would be rude to refuse a host's wishes, even if they were granted at the price of considerable inconvenience to himself.

He slept deeply that night, better than he had slept for a long time.

* * *

"You know," Usagi said over sizzling bacon and warm scrambled eggs the next morning, "I had the weirdest dream last night.

"Oh?" Mamoru replied, stabbing the last bit of sausage with his fork just as Usagi's hit the plate with a conspicuous _clink_. "What was it about?"

"I don't quite remember the details," she confessed, looking slightly peeved at being denied her food. "All I know is, there was a big Jell-O ax involved—I _think_ it whacked me in the face at one point…And you know what the funniest part is?"

"What?"

"When I woke up this morning, I had a bruise on my face! There—do you see it?"

"Er…yeah, I do," Mamoru said, before standing up hastily and busying himself with a second batch of omelets. He could feel the heat rising in his face as he turned on the stove, and suspected it had little to do with the appliance's rising temperature.

He could see the peculiar mark adorning her right cheek, of course, and no doubt there were matching ones on the side of her waist where he had accidentally stepped on her last night trying to get to the bathroom. He had somehow managed to trip over the hazardous mountains of blankets acting as barriers between the bathroom and the couch, sending him flying with all the grace of a catapulted penguin on top of her. He had caught himself before hitting the ground, but ended up spending a good ten minutes trying to disentangle himself from pools of golden hair without waking her.

He needn't have worried, though. She slept sounder than a rock on sedatives.

What he _had_ to worry about was trying to get himself up and out of that dangerous position before he went insane with trying to keep control of himself. At least she had done him the favor of keeping her blankets close and cozy at night.

And now, he had a very conspicuous reminder of all of the previous night's events staring out at him from Usagi's face, and he would have to try and ignore it as best as possible.

Of course, that was assuming that it _was_ possible to ignore at all.

"Erm…Mamoru?" Usagi asked from over his shoulder. Mamoru nearly sent the spatula in his hand flying into a bowl of leftover pancake batter.

"_What_?"

"Nothing. I thought you should know that the omelet's on fire, that's all."

"Oh."

"It's all right," Usagi said matter-of-factly. "I do it all the time. You get the fire extinguisher, I'll go disable the smoke alarm that's been screaming its head off for the past three minutes without you noticing at all." She raised an eyebrow at him as she turned to leave. "Honestly, Mamoru-baka, what kind of an Iron Chef _are_ you?"

"One that's going insane," Mamoru muttered under his breath, reaching under the kitchen sink for something to put out the cheery flames before they turned the house into a roaring inferno of Hell.

* * *

The black poster on the wall wobbled a little as a finger jabbed at the picture of a translucent, half-deformed man hovering over a sleeping woman's bed.

"Let's go see this one!"

"Why, Odango?" Mamoru teased. "If you can't sleep with such a good-looking man as myself haunting you, you'll turn into an insomniac after _this_ movie."

"In your dreams! I just don't want to watch your…_educational_ film." Usagi made a face. "It's the weekend. That's just wrong."

"I thought it sounded nice."

Usagi only growled.

"All right, all right," he finally conceded, holding up his hands in defeat. "We'll go watch this—what's it called?" He squinted at the title sweeping the marquee. "'Phantom Fears.'"

"Yes! Thank you, Mamoru-baka!"

"But don't blame me if you can't sleep."

"Oh, I won't," Usagi replied loftily, dragging him off to buy tickets. "Trust me, nothing can scare me after meeting _you_ as a ghost."

* * *

The second night…

"Mamoru, I can't sleep!"

"I won't say I told you so."

"It's all your fault."

"Good-looking men can have that effect on people sometimes."

"I'm not talking about _you_," Usagi snapped impatiently. "The movie!"

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling fan. "Just because you wanted to watch the scene where the phantom came in and ate the guy's brains out—"

"Eek! Stop it, Mamoru! You're scaring me."

Mamoru grinned. "It's not my fault you're such a scaredy-cat, Odango."

"No, I mean _you're_ scaring me. Like your face. It's starting to look like that ugly phantom's."

"Hey! I'll have you know that—"

"Can you just, like, hide it under the couch cushions or something and keep it there until I fall asleep? Thanks."

Mamoru tried to decide whether or not she was being serious. She was. And she looked damn close to crying over it, too.

"No," he said firmly, crossing his arms. "_No_, I will not!"

It was nearly one in the morning before the strain of Usagi's snores filtered through the mounds of pink pillows piled on top of Mamoru's head.

* * *

For Tsukino Usagi, Sunday mornings meant a time of anticipation for the bright day ahead, fit to burst with the prospects of comics and carefree meandering wherever she pleased.

For Chiba Mamoru, however, Sunday mornings meant something a little bit different.

"You haven't finished your _homework_?"

Because Chiba Mamoru had never heard of a person who left their assignments unfinished at ungodly hour of 11 a.m. On a _Sunday_. The day before _Monday_, which was a _school day_.

"Well, yeah, I thought I would just do it after I finished this stack of manga," Usagi replied airily, biting into a cream puff and dripping a dollop of cream onto an open comic. "Oops. And that new drama. Oh, yeah, and that leftover apple pie in the fridge, too."

"March yourself upstairs right now, young lady, and don't come back down until that homework is completely _finished_," he said, in a firm, do-not-argue-with-me tone.

Usagi blinked.

After a moment's pause, she slapped him jovially on the back and exclaimed, "You almost got me there, baka! And here I was thinking you were actually _serious_!"

"Does it look like I'm kidding?"

"…Oh. Well, your face always look like that, you prude," she teased, adding in a small voice, "But somehow I think the answer is that you're not kidding at all."

"March, Odango. Now."

"Actually, it's Septemb—ow! Okay, I'm going, I'm going!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later…

"Now given the following expression, what is the value of x?"

"Mamoru, I'm hungry."

"I'm not making you anything edible until you finish your homework, unless you want apple-loaf."

"I'd rather starve."

"Good. At the rate we're going, you might just manage that. Now what's the integral?"

"7.5?"

"It's going to be a _long_ night."

* * *

Four hours and fourteen minutes later…

"What's the capital of Singapore, Odango?"

"Um…Helsinki?"

"Wrong again. Drop and give me ten."

"Slave-driver."

"I love you too, Odango."

* * *

"I can't believe I'm finally done!" Usagi turned to look at the man collapsed over in a heap on her desk. "And what are _you_ so tired for?" she demanded. "It's _my_ homework, for goodness' sake! You should be making me a celebration dinner!"

"Gomakeyurown," the pile of clothes said in a muffled voice.

"What?"

The heap shifted to reveal Mamoru's face glaring up balefully at Usagi from his arms. "I said, go make your own dinner. I'm dead tired."

"What? No way! Do you want me to die of food poisoning?!"

"That would be helpful," he muttered, and buried his face back in his arms.

"Oh, no. There is no way I'm making my own dinner, mister!" She tugged on his sleeve. "Get up."

"No."

"Make me dinner. I'm starving from all that work!"

"Good for you."

"I meant the push-ups."

Mamoru made an unintelligible reply. There was a moment's pause, then Usagi said, "I promise I won't try to help if you cook."

One blue eye peeked up at her from its snug elbow spot. "You won't?"

"Nope. I won't. Not even a taste of the cookie dough."

"Promise?"

Usagi smiled. "Pinkies. No flames or pyrotechnics tonight."

Mamoru groaned and pushed himself up from the desk. They shook pinkies. "All right, but you promised."

"Sure!" she replied happily. "I'd eat your cooking all my life if _that's_ all it takes to get you to agree to it."

Then she skipped down the stairs, leaving Mamoru to grin foolishly at the empty and ludicrously pink haven that was his Odango's bedroom.

* * *

On the third night, there was something of a disturbance.

It began with a cup of cocoa.

"Thank you for the cocoa, Mamoru-baka."

"Calling people names usually isn't the best way to express your appreciation," Mamoru teased, sitting down on the couch with his own steaming mug in hand, "but I appreciate your gratitude."

Usagi made a face. "You sure have a funny way of showing it."

Mamoru shrugged. "What can I say? I just don't know what else to do when—" He stopped.

Somehow, _when I'm around you_ didn't sound quite appropriate to say to a girl of fifteen years.

"When what?" she asked, looking at him curiously as she popped a marshmallow into her mouth.

"When you're so awful at comebacks, it's insulting, really," Mamoru invented wildly, cocoa sloshing slightly onto his pajama bottoms.

"Why, you—"

Mamoru laughed and threw a soggy marshmallow at her. "Forget it, Odango. Let's just have a civilized conversation tonight. It's our last night together, isn't it?"

"Huh? Oh…" Usagi's eyes widened slightly over the rim of her cup. "You're right."

"So play nice."

She cocked her head to one side. "Since when did you get so friendly?"

He stretched back against the couch. "Since I realized that being in your presence boosts my ego tremendously."

"_Hey!_"

"No, really, but hear me out," Mamoru laughed, holding his hands up in front of him as she chucked a sugar packet at his head. "So you may be the world's biggest klutz, and your cooking makes eating rat poison look safe—"

"I thought we were being _nice_ here—"

"—but you know, despite all that, this is the first time I've had so much fun in my life."

"Huh?"

Mamoru set his cup down on the coffee table. "I'm serious, Odango. I haven't opened a single book these past three days with you, and I can't tell you how _liberating_—well, you know how it feels, I'm sure—not to mention I've never received so much attention from one person before."

"But what about all of your other friends?"

"Friends?" He gave a little laugh. "Odango, how many friends can you count that I have?"

Usagi frowned. "Well, there's Motoki, for one…"

"Exactly. One." Mamoru closed his eyes. "I have one friend, and—"

"…and Reika, and Rei, of course, you even went out with her," Usagi said as she ticked the names off on her fingers, oblivious to Mamoru's brooding silence. "And I guess you could count Ami and Makoto and Minako, and Motoki's little sister Unazaki, and Saori, your policewoman friend, not to mention all of the classmates I probably don't even know about…"

"Er…Odango?"

"Oh, yeah. And me, I suppose. Sort of."

"Odango?"

Usagi looked up. "Yeah?"

"_That_…is exactly what I meant about really boosting a guy's ego."

"Wait—what did I do?"

And for the first time in his life, sitting there across from Usagi with her forehead crinkled into a tiny crease and her head cocked to one side in a bemused expression, Mamoru didn't know what to say. His heart was pounding with what he was so close to saying, just a finger's breadth away from admitting after so many months of holding back the words that were now about to burst forth on his lips—

"Oh. My. God."

"No, hang on, Oda—Usagi, I don't want you to get the wrong impression—" he began hastily, feeling slightly desperate now that he had worked up the courage to tell her the truth.

"But it's _you_," she whispered in a small voice.

"I know," he murmured, his heart sinking as he watched the expression of shock spread over her beautiful features. "I know what you think of me, Odango, but I was just hoping that—"

"No," she said, looking up at him and pointing a shaky finger at a spot over his shoulder. "It's _you_."

Mamoru turned around.

"Shit," he whispered.

There was no doubt that both of them were seeing it, a translucent figure standing in the kitchen doorway wearing a very familiar jacket that they could swear looked almost green amidst the pearly glow.

And there was no mistaking the fact that, sitting there in the Tsukino living room that night, they were looking at the ghost of Chiba Mamoru.

A strange calm swept through the room, as if an invisible hand had pulled them into a vacuum that was neither space nor time, and Mamoru felt an inexplicable chill creep into the back of his neck.

It felt like he was watching himself die.

He stared, unmoving, at the misty image. It was as if somebody had wrenched Mamoru out of his own body and placed whatever fragments of soul were left to salvage in front of him, in this unsubstantial, twisted form. It made him sick.

Then he watched as a pair of translucent white eyes roamed over Usagi sitting terrified and open-mouthed on the floor, and a sudden feeling of fear, of a desire to protect her, seized him.

And if what happened next had not occurred, Mamoru would have been by her side in a split second.

The ghost suddenly reared its head, fixed Mamoru to the spot with a penetrating gaze that was neither human nor completely unfamiliar…and disappeared.

Nothing moved.

And Usagi still sat frozen on the ground, surrounded by a useless pile of blankets, her face as pale as death.

Mamoru's own blood had gone cold at the sight of her bloodless face, and he finally mustered up enough strength to laugh hollowly and say, for her sake more than anything else, "Well, at least we know I'll die a good-looking man, don't we?"

Usagi's face, if possible, went even whiter.

"Mamoru," she whispered.

"I…Usagi?"

"I…I'm tired, Mamoru."

"Oda—Usagi, if you want to talk, I—"

She raised her gaze to meet his, and Mamoru felt a sudden pang in his chest as he recognized the look in her eyes.

Dead. A deadened look of despair.

"Mamoru," she said softly. "I would…I would really like to go to sleep now."

He didn't rush to her and murmur assuring words into her hair. He didn't gather up the blankets in his arms and wrap her in them and warm her clammy hands with his own. All he could say was, "Oh…okay. Yeah."

And he got up, gazed down at her still form wrapped in blankets for a moment, turned off the light, and pulled his own covers over his head so that the darkness completely enveloped him.

It was a very long time before he finally fell asleep to the unusually still silence of a September evening.

He dreamt of wandering phantoms and dying souls that night.

* * *

When he awoke the next morning, Usagi was already gone. A note on the kitchen counter said, _Out to the park for a walk. Be back soon._

He waited all morning for her, roaming restlessly between the living room and the front porch. What else could he do? There were too many things left unsettled between them to stay calm.

By one in the afternoon, it began to drizzle outside.

By two, it began to rain. Mamoru made phone calls to see if anyone had seen Usagi. Nobody had.

By 2:36 p.m., Mamoru was nearly going out of his mind with worry, and was just wrenching on his jacket to head out and look for her when the front door opened.

And there was Usagi, standing in the doorway, drenched from head to toe in rain, little droplets dripping off the end of her nose. She was shivering.

"Usagi—" Mamoru started towards her, but she held up a hand.

"Mamoru…" she said in a soft voice, not looking at him. "Mamoru, I think you should leave."

It was plain to see that she was cold. Her hands shook, her teeth chattered slightly. Mamoru moved towards the door and closed it behind her, to keep the wind out.

"Let's get you changed into something warm, Usagi."

She shook her head, with more conviction this time. "No, Mamoru. Go. Please." Her voice was imploring.

"Usagi." He walked closer and placed a hand on her bare, wet shoulder. She did not move. "Usagi, if you need to talk—"

She shrugged out from under his warm touch and whispered to the floor, "I can't talk to you, Mamoru. Not right now. Please…"

"But Usagi—"

She whipped her head around to finally look at him, and the fierceness of the expression he found in those usually bright and lively blue eyes made him take a step back.

"I said, LEAVE! What don't you understand, Mamoru? _I don't want you here anymore!_"

And somehow, at that moment, it hurt more to hear her say his name like this than it ever had to bear her relentless name-calling.

He gazed at her for a long time, slung his jacket over his shoulder, opened the door, and left.

Sheets of rain pounded down on him. By the time he had reached the sidewalk, he was soaked to the skin. But he had lost all feeling, and walked faster.

His foot had just made contact with the hard pavement when the ghost of a voice seemed to call out to him. He shook his head to drown it out the roar of the storm.

But then he heard it again. He turned around.

And this time, he was sure that it was no ghost at all. Because despite the heavy downpour, he could make out every minute feature of the most real thing he had ever seen in his life, standing on the sidewalk behind sheets of rain, calling to him.

It was Usagi, soaking wet.

"_Chiba Mamoru_!" she screamed, shivering and shaking and sobbing all at once. "Chiba Mamoru, you come back here! I hate you! I hate you for leaving me! I hate…I _hate_—"

Mamoru saw her legs suddenly give way from underneath her, and in a flash he was by her side, holding her weight against his own soaked body.

"I—I thought you were gone…" she whispered through chattering teeth, even as Mamoru shushed her and brushed the rain gently from her face. "When…when I saw it, I was just so scared, Mamoru…so scared…"

"Usagi, it was just a ghost…an image, it can't hurt you…" he murmured, stroking her hair.

She leaned her head back slightly to look at him, and he felt a surge of relief as her eyes searched his own with an earnestness that had not been there the night before. "Mamoru—I was afraid—I was afraid to see you like that…a ghost…" She trailed off and shook her head slightly. "But more than that, I was afraid…"

She raised her gaze steadily to meet his.

"I was afraid of what I would do if I had to live without you."

"Usagi…"

"…M-Mamoru?"

"Usagi, I have a question."

"…Yes?"

"It's past three now. Is the trial period over yet?"

Usagi's eyes widened—first in disbelief, then despair as the meaning of his words hit her. But then she swallowed hard, forced a shaky smile and said, in a voice that sounded hollow, "Yes…you're free to go."

"Good."

But he didn't walk away. He did not turn around and tell her he hated her and leave.

Instead, he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

And both of them knew, pressed tightly against one another under the pouring rain, that this was the realest thing either of them could ever have hoped for.

"Usagi…" Mamoru whispered into Usagi's ear as he pulled away slightly from her warm lips.

"Mamor—what…?"

"I'm so sorry, Usagi."

"For what?"

He brushed the wet hair gingerly from her face. "I wanted to do it on my own terms, Usa—Usako. I wanted to let you know that what I was doing right now was completely my own decision, and not the product of some harebrained scheme."

Usagi eyes went wide and she laughed, shivering as she pressed her face against his chest. "It was pretty harebrained, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't expect less from my bunny."

"Bunny? Wait, what's that got to do with hare—"

Mamoru cut her off with a chuckle. "Never mind," he said, pressing a finger against her lips. He smiled, his expression soft. "I just want you to know, Usako…that as long as I'm here by your side, you have nothing to be afraid of. And not even a ghost is going to change that."

"Oh? So what about fifty?"

Mamoru rolled his eyes with a smile and put an arm around Usagi's shoulder, leading her back towards the house. "Come on, don't you think I can take on at least fifty?"

She giggled and hit him lightly on the arm. "I think you're just an egocentric jerk, Chiba Mamo-chan. And I think that if we don't get back inside the house soon, we're _both_ going to catch pneumonia and die, and then we'll see where you and your promises get you!"

"You are one crazy girl…_Odango_."

"Hey! Why, you little—"

"Usako?"

"Huh?"

"I…I love you, Usako."

"Oh, Mamo-chan…I love you too."

"And Usako?"

"Yes?"

"Do you really think your dad is going to kill me?"

The sound of Usagi's laughter could be heard clearly despite the rush of the rain enveloping them as they strolled back towards the house, the two of them walking away for good from their phantom fears, and with one extremely good-looking man in tow.

* * *

"So, Setsuna, what did you think of my work?"

"I think Serenity was right—you really _are_ an egocentric jerk."

"She likes it. Or couldn't you tell?"

"Endy?" a voice called. The man grinned.

"Speak of the devil."

"Endy?" the voice repeated, and they could hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Got to go, then, Setsuna," the man said briskly, throwing his cloak over his shoulders in one swift motion and heading for the door. He stopped in the doorway. "Setsuna?"

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Remember—not a word to Serenity of this little…event."

"I wouldn't dare."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me—" He winked. "Duty calls." And he left the room.

"Endy?" the portal guardian heard a familiar woman's voice ask as the noises of conversation floated in through the still-open door. "Endy, where have you been all this time? The minister of—of…oh…"

The Senshi raised an eyebrow and shut the door with a disinterested flick of her wrist just as the unmistakable sound of a low moan drifted in from the hallway beyond.

"Those two," she murmured, shaking her head. "Two thousand years, and they still haven't learned to—"

"_Oh, Endy!_"

"—to get a room," the Senshi muttered, rolling her eyes at the portal, where the image of a young man and girl walking hand in hand through the pouring rain still shone clearly despite the darkness, brighter than any star she had ever seen.

* * *

The End.

* * *

So how did you guys like it? Comments, feedback, criticism, and plushie dolls are all welcome! I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing all the way from yonder overseas!

Speaking of which—I'm studying abroad at the moment, which means that I'll be busy adapting to life in this brand new place called Hong Kong. At the moment, I'm working hard on the 35 drabbles challenge at the Livejournal Usagi-Mamoru anniversary group, so check out the link in my profile if you're interested! The more the merrier.

This also means a push-back on "Notebooks" and the 100 themed drabbles. Sorry, guys! But it's definitely for a good cause, and if you're suffering from drabble withdrawal you can always check out the new ones that I will be posting up for the challenge…as soon as I get around to actually finishing one…

So with all that said, cheers! I wish you all merry good-looking men (or women, but mostly men, I should think) and a diarrhea-strewn textbook for your troubles.

(I thought it was a funny image…)

With bundles of love,

Ala!

E-mail: (ala underscore verity at yahoo)


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